your mother recognizes that look in your eyes,
the worn one:
the one that screams hazard.
you're identifiable by the blown-out pupils and the puffy bags under your eyes.
your movements feel weighed down and your nerves are lit on fire.
it feels as though fire ants are coursing through your veins,
but oh god, you cannot get them out of your system.
everything seems wrong - your vision is blurry and nothing looks real anymore,
so you lay there. fidgeting with everything,
your stomach churning until you feel acid piling in the back of your throat
(you won't throw up, don't worry).
you breathe through your nose and out through your mouth,
slowly (one at a time so you don't panic too much about the ants).
your heart pounds, the unsteady thump rattles in your chest
and absolutely nothing can make you feel whole again.
but your mom doesn't mind.
she looks at you, places her hand on your shoulder, and gets you out.
she walks you to the car and kisses your head, tells you she loves you, then gets your dad.
your mother recognizes that look in your eyes,
and she accepts it. for what it's worth, she accepts it.
